This is Good
by WinterSky101
Summary: A WtNV fic. After a particularly vicious punishment from Station Management, Cecil returns home to find a welcome surprise who isn't as nonchalant about what happened as he is. Cecil/Carlos. Some vague mentions of violence/torture.


**So this is based off of a post on the tumblr blog nightvaleheadcanons. However, the blog is currently on hiatus and I can't access the original post for some reason. Basically, it said something like this:**

**"Cecil is beaten and tortured by management every time he messes up and reports on something he's not supposed to. He's covered in bruises and scars."**

**Of course I saw it and I had to write a fic.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own WtNV.**

* * *

Cecil screwed up. _Again_.

As he limps from the radio station back to his apartment, he can't help but angrily wonder why it's always _him_. As far as he knows, this has never happened to one of the previous Voices of Night Vale. _They_ didn't report on mysterious shapes that no one's supposed to acknowledge or speak about, and _they_ didn't discuss what Station Management really is, and _they_ didn't talk about things the City Council doesn't want people talking about. But why does Cecil? Why can't he help himself? Damn it, what makes him so different?

Carlos is waiting for Cecil in his apartment, which is a welcome surprise, but instead of being excited to see him, he lets out a horrified sound as Cecil enters. "What happened to you?" he demands, eyes wide.

"I reported on what I wasn't supposed to again," Cecil groans. Carlos leads him to the couch and Cecil flops down, not caring about the fact that his blood is probably staining the upholstery. What does it matter? It's stained already. And anyway, the couch is red for just such an occasion. And for ritual sacrifices, but that's another story.

"Again?" Carlos asks, his face twisting in horror. "This has happened before?"

"Where did you think my scars came from?" Cecil asks in return. Beneath its darker tint, Carlos's skin turns a sickly pale greenish color. "Carlos, are you alright?" Cecil asks, concerned.

"You're asking _me_ if I'm alright?" Carlos demands, his voice shaking. "Damn it, Cecil, look at yourself! If anyone's not alright, it's you!"

"Oh, this is nothing," Cecil replies dismissively. "You should have seen how I looked when I discussed what Station Management truly was. I was limping for weeks." Carlos looks like he might throw up. "Carlos, are you _sure_ you're alright?" Cecil asks again. Carlos just makes a choked noise in response. "I'm sorry I'm such a screw up," Cecil apologizes, wondering if that's the problem. Tears spring to Carlos's eyes. Cecil can't fathom why.

"I don't blame you for a second," Carlos assures Cecil. "This is not your fault."

"But I wasn't supposed to talk about the secret message the Sheriff's Secret Police sent to the station that was definitely not supposed to be aired!" Cecil complains. "And I did it anyway. I'm such an idiot. I'm so horrible, I belong in Desert Bluffs." As he's not a native of Night Vale, Carlos can't quite grasp all of the seriousness of that statement, but he understands it well enough.

"You do not," he tells Cecil firmly. "You belong right here, in Night Vale. That's where we both belong."

Well, that's nice, at least. Carlos has finally accepted that Night Vale is where he belongs, which Cecil had been a little worried wouldn't happen. Cecil's still not convinced that _he_ belongs in Night Vale, though.

"Cecil, do you remember our first date?" Carlos asks, seeming to be able to sense Cecil's lingering doubts. Cecil frowns slightly and nods. He's not sure where Carlos is going with this. "Remember how much I sounded like an idiot? Remember how awkward I was?" No, not really; if anyone was awkward, it was Cecil. Carlos was perfect as always. But before Cecil can mention that, Carlos has continued talking. "That is because you, Cecil, are perfect, and I couldn't think straight around you. You are not horrible, you are not an idiot, you are not a screw up."

"But then why do I do things like this?" Cecil asks, almost tearfully. "Why can't I just stop myself?"

"Because you're a good reporter," Carlos replies firmly. "And a good reporter makes their reports, no matter what."

"Not in Night Vale," Cecil protests. "In Night Vale, a good reporter reports on what the City Council, Sheriff's Secret Police, and Station Management tell them to report on."

"Either way, this is ridiculous," Carlos says, sounding angry. "They should not have done this to you."

"I'm fine, Carlos," Cecil protests. He might not be part of the 53% of Night Vale citizens that can't feel pain, and maybe his wounds have been creeping steadily towards unbearably painful in the past few minutes, but Cecil still has an incredibly high pain tolerance. All of the 47% of citizens that can feel pain have a high pain tolerance. You need one to survive in Night Vale. Cecil's is exceptionally high, considering how much pain he goes through on a regular basis. He's even been able to pass as a citizen that can't feel pain in the past, though this is a lot more serious than that injury had been. Cecil won't be able to hide this pain for much longer. But he doesn't want Carlos to see him in pain.

"Cecil?" Carlos asks suddenly. "Can you feel pain?" Cecil can't believe that Carlos was thinking the same thing he was, but he supposes it is a logical procession of thoughts. Especially for a scientist. Scientists are so smart, after all. Especially Carlos. That doesn't mean Cecil doesn't wish Carlos hadn't thought to ask the question.

"Cecil?" Carlos asks again. "Cecil, are you alright? Did you hear me?"

"What? Oh, yes. I heard you, Carlos."

"And can you feel pain?" Carlos asks. Cecil pauses for a moment, then nods slowly. Carlos swears. "Shit. Okay, what should I do? Damn it, this is _not_ what I'm trained for!"

"Carlos, calm down," Cecil says, going into his radio voice just a bit. "I'll be fine. This has happened before, and I've always been fine. It's alright."

"No, this is _not_ alright!" Carlos protests. "Do you even _know_ how incredibly illegal it is for your employers to do this?"

"Oh, it's not illegal," Cecil replies. "The City Council encourages it, actually." Carlos looks as if he might be sick. "Why do you keep looking so horrified by this? It's not that bad," Cecil adds. "At least I'm alive."

"That's not... That doesn't..." Carlos is at a loss for words. Cecil can't believe it. Perfect, smart Carlos has nothing to say. "This is not okay," he finally says.

"Carlos, you're sweet to worry, but I'm alright. Really," Cecil tells him. "I can bandage myself up just fine, and I'll be back to normal in a few days." Cecil looks down at himself. "Well, maybe a bit longer than that," he corrects ruefully. "This is more than usual."

"Cecil!" Carlos's voice is choked. "Let me help you. Please."

"If you want," Cecil replies. The pain is beginning to show in his voice, just a little bit. He can tell Carlos hears it.

"Okay, so what should I do?" Carlos asks, looking a little lost. Cecil starts to try and pull his sweater off, but he gasps in pain as he tries to raise his arms. "Let me do that," Carlos immediately offers, pulling the sweater off as gently as he can. Underneath is a button down, which Carlos unbuttons carefully and pulls off slowly. Cecil's torso is a mess of blood and cuts. Carlos's face turns a definite green.

"I'll get something to clean the blood with," he says, practically running into the kitchen. Cecil takes a moment to study his wounds. They're bad, but he's had worse. He wonders of Carlos is afraid of blood. He doesn't have to be; Cecil's blood has never gained sentience and gone on a rampage through town. Anyway, everyone knows _that_ sort of blood is a deceptively-pleasant lime green, and Cecil's is cherry red. There's no need to be frightened.

Carlos returns with a towel. He starts using it to wipe away blood on Cecil's chest. "I...I don't really know what I'm doing," he admits.

"So far, you're doing alright," Cecil tells him. "There's not much to it. Just wipe the blood away and then put bandages on."

"Shouldn't I use antiseptic or something?" Carlos asks. Cecil looks to him with wide eyes.

"Are you trying to kill me?"

"What?"

"It happened back in '94. Antiseptic is highly poisonous. There was an attack. The antiseptic monsters killed half the town before the Sheriff's Secret Police took them out."

"Um..." Carlos looks completely lost. "Okay. I won't use antiseptic then. But my antiseptic has never turned into an antiseptic monster, just so you know."

"You can never be too careful," Cecil replies warily. Carlos sighs.

"I suppose you're right." Cecil smiles slightly. "Thank you for helping me, Carlos."

"Any time," Carlos replies, wiping away the blood with a damp towel. None of the wounds are deep enough for stitches. Carlos tenderly bandages them when he's done wiping away the blood.

"This is ridiculous," he says once he's done and has Cecil nestled against him.

"What is?" Cecil asks, resting his head on Carlos's chest.

"This," Carlos says, gesturing at Cecil's bandaged body. "What they did to you. It's not right."

"It's normal here," Cecil replies with a shrug. Carlos sighs.

"I know. I just wish it weren't."

"If wishes were horses, we'd all have to flee in terror to keep them from eating our flesh," Cecil replies sagely. Carlos looks at him for a long moment, then begins to laugh. Cecil smiles (even though he doesn't quite get _why_ Carlos is laughing) and snuggles up even closer.

Getting tortured by Station Management is bad, but sitting and laughing with Carlos... This is good.


End file.
